Chapter 14
Sienna's POV
The knocking jolted me from the first real sleep I'd had in two weeks. I stumbled to the door in yesterday's clothes, hair a rat's nest, tasting old coffee.
Through the peephole, I saw Tony's face. I knew this wouldn't be good news.
I opened the door just a crack, the chain still on. "What?"
"Lease is up." He got straight to the point, holding a folder. "You remember next month is renewal time, right?"
I rubbed my eyes. "Yeah. I was planning to contact you this week to sign."
"Perfect timing then." His smile gave me goosebumps. "New rent's out. Twenty percent higher than now."
I was fully awake now. "What? You can't—"
"Market rate, Ms. Thorne. This area's appreciating. You can check the prices of other apartments around here." He handed over the folder. "New contract's inside. You have seven days to decide. If you don't sign, I'll have to list the place."
I mechanically took the folder. "Tony, we agreed to renew at the original price—"
"Verbal agreements don't count." He shrugged. "Contract says 'subject to market adjustments.' I'm just following the rules." He paused, his eyes scanning me with a look that made my stomach turn. "Although... if you're really having trouble, we could work something out. Like, you could do me a little favor, and I'll keep it at the old price."
Alarm bells rang in my head. "What favor?"
"Just... occasionally keep me company for dinner, a movie." His smile became more explicit. "You live alone and get bored, I'm alone and bored too—we could look out for each other. You're so pretty, and I've been so good to you—"
I slammed the door.
Through it, I heard his voice: "Think about it! Rent everywhere else is twice as much! You better be smart about this!"
I leaned against the door, fingers digging into my palms, fighting down the urge to vomit.
---
Ten minutes later, I called Payton.
"What's wrong?" She answered quickly, concern in her voice. "You don't sound right."
"The landlord." I took a deep breath. "He wants to raise the rent twenty percent. Then he implied..."
Three seconds of silence on the other end.
Then Payton exploded: "That shameless piece of shit! He dared? He fucking dared say that to you? Sienna, tell me you recorded it."
"No, I just woke up—"
"Fuck." She was furious. "Alright, he wants to play? We'll play with him. Don't rush to move, and don't sign anything."
"Payton, I can't afford that price—"
"Listen." Her voice calmed, shifting to that practical problem-solving tone. "First, come stay with me for a few days. Second, we need to collect evidence. Next time he contacts you, turn on your phone's recording. Third, I know a tenant rights lawyer—we'll set up a consultation."
"I don't want to sue, I don't have the time or money—"
"Who said anything about suing? Scaring him is enough." Payton laughed coldly. "People like him are most afraid of trouble. One lawyer's letter and he'll back down." She paused, her tone softening. "Sienna, you've had a rough two weeks already. Don't let scum like this drain you anymore. Move in with me first, we'll handle it slowly, okay?"
I closed my eyes, feeling my throat tighten. "...Okay. Thanks."
"For what?" She scoffed. "I was just thinking I needed someone to split wine costs with."
Despite everything, I almost laughed. "You sure?"
"Pack. Better move in today."
"I can't today."
"Got a date?" She sounded curious.
"You wish." I smiled.
After hanging up, I leaned against the wall, letting myself relax.
---
7:00 PM. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, trying to transform two weeks of sleep deprivation into something presentable for a stadium full of people.
I settled on dark jeans, a fitted gray sweater, and my least-scuffed boots. Pulled my hair into a low ponytail because trying anything more ambitious was asking for trouble. Minimal makeup—just enough to look like I hadn't been living on coffee and anxiety.
The drive to Behemoth Stadium took thirty minutes through evening traffic. The structure rose against the darkening sky like a spaceship, all steel and glass and architectural ambition. Floodlights illuminated the exterior, and I could hear the roar of 50,000 fans from the parking lot.
I hadn't been to a live football game in six years. Not since high school, when I'd sit in the student section at Oakridge Prep and watch—
No. I shoved that thought down hard. Tonight wasn't about the past. It was about seeing my work perform under the most demanding conditions possible.
The VIP entrance was mercifully uncrowded. A young woman in a Sentinels polo checked my ticket and directed me to an elevator. "Section 201, you'll be in one of the premium boxes. Enjoy the game, ma'am."
The elevator ascended smoothly, depositing me in a carpeted hallway lined with dark wood and framed action shots. I found Section 201 and stepped into a glass-walled box overlooking the 50-yard line.
The view stole my breath. The field stretched out below like a perfect green canvas, yard lines crisp white under lights so bright they turned night into day. The crowd's energy was a physical thing, a thrumming bass note that vibrated through the floor.
The box had sponsors or team management. They nodded politely when I entered but quickly returned to their conversation.
I sank into a leather seat by the window and let myself just... look. The Sentinels' deep blue and silver uniforms. The opposition in white and red. Players warming up on the sidelines, their movements efficient and powerful.
And suddenly I was seventeen again, sitting in the front row of Oakridge's stadium with a homemade sign that said #12 Sterling, You're My MVP. Watching Hayes drop back in the pocket, that perfect spiral leaving his hand like he was throwing lightning. The way he'd pull off his helmet after a touchdown and look straight at me—
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your Aetheria Sentinels!"
The PA system's roar snapped me back to the present. Players burst from the tunnel in a wave of blue and silver, and the crowd's noise became deafening.
I watched them line up, trying to spot the five players who'd be wearing my work. Then the jumbotron cut to a close-up of the starting quarterback, #12 in silver and blue, and my heart stopped.
Hayes Sterling.